


Far From Home

by Grundy



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-19 15:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13126740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: Carnistir loses his temper. Again. But it's a little different now than it would have been in Tirion...





	1. Temper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lightofthetrees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightofthetrees/gifts).



> A Tolkien Secret Santa 2017 gift that started out small and just kept growing. Happy holidays, [lightofthetrees](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lightofthetrees/pseuds/lightofthetrees)! Also, there are more chapters to come.

_Now the lords of the Noldor held council in Mithrim, and thither came Angrod out of Doriath, bearing the message of King Thingol. Cold seemed its welcome to the Noldor, and the sons of Fëanor were angered at the wordsl but Maedhros laughed, saying ‘A king is he that can hold his own, or else his title is vain. Thingol does but grant us lands where his power does not run. Indeed Doriath alone would be his realm this day, but for the coming of the Noldor. Therefore in Doriath let him reign, and be glad that he has the sons of Finwë for his neighbours, not the Orcs of Morgoth that we found. Elsewhere it shall go as seems good to us.’_

_But Caranthir, who loved not the sons of Finarfin, and was the harshest of the brothers and the most quick to anger, cried aloud: ‘Yea more! Let not the sons of Finarfin run hither and thither with their tales to this Dark Elf in his caves! Who made them our spokesmen to deal with him? And though they be come indeed to Beleriand, let them not so swiftly forget that their father is a lord of the Noldor, though their mother be of other kin.’_

Carnistir was irritated to discover the door that had just shut behind him was too well-constructed to slam satisfactorily, so he kicked it to achieve the same effect.

Bad enough to be condescended to by a dark elf, but he knew his brother was upset about his sharp words and would have some words of his own on the matter. And, of course, his aggravating younger cousins would not be speaking to him any time soon.

He glared when he heard the door open behind him, but to his surprise found it was Tyelko who had followed him. An odd choice, given that he and Tyelko were two peas in a pod when it came to their quick tempers, more likely to antagonize each other into another bust-up than to soothe when one of them was already angry.

“Come on,” Tyelko said, draping an arm around his shoulders.

“I’m not in the mood for whatever you think we’re doing,” Carnistir snapped, trying to shrug his older brother off.

“Too bad,” Tyelko replied unconcernedly, keeping his arm right where he’d put it without any apparent effort. “You don’t really get a choice. You and I are leaving now. The others will follow after Nelyo does his best to patch things up with Uncle Nolo and Ingo.”

“What do you mean, leaving?” Carnistir demanded, stubbornly planting his feet, for all the good it did.

Maitimo – Makalaurë might humor him, but most of his brothers flat out refused to call him by that awful Sindarin name – might be the tallest of their father’s sons, but what Tyelko lacked in height he made up for in muscle mass, and Carnistir found himself being moved along easily.

“Leaving,” Tyelko repeated, as if talking to Tyelpë. “You know, the opposite of _staying_. It sounds as though Nelyo was already thinking of it before you made a hash of it in there, but that demonstration of how we can’t even get along with our Arafinwion cousins settled it. Uncle Nolo certainly didn’t sound too sorry to hear we’d be making our farewells.”

“ _I_ made a hash of it?” Carnistir demanded indignantly. “When-”

“Moryo, kindly _shut up_ ,” Tyelko hissed in exasperation. “Unless, of course, you want the entire settlement to take notice of the fact that there are two separate factions of princes storming off in opposite directions…”

“What?” Carnistir asked, startled out of his anger.

“I’ll tell you about it when we’re back at our camp,” Tyelko said, and Carnistir noticed he was keeping his voice determinedly pleasant and his expression neutral. “Better you hear it from me before you have to justify yourself to Nelyo and Kano.”

That gave him pause.

The ride to the opposite side of the lake was mostly silent. Carnistir spent it reviewing what he’d said and trying to work out just what had been so bad that his elder brothers were so displeased. Tyelko was apparently uninclined to talk where they might be overheard.

He really started to feel nervous when Tyelko didn’t leave him alone once they’d reached their camp, but accompanied him to his cabin. (Many among the host of Fingolfin might still be housed in tents, but the Fëanorion host had stirred themselves to construct at least temporary buildings for housing as soon as possible.)

“Am I not trusted on my own?” Carnistir demanded.

“Not at the moment,” Tyelko told him regretfully. “We can’t risk you making it any worse. Ango and Aiko both stormed out not long after you did, and from what I could see while we were getting our horses from the stable, they and their followers will be gone by morning. If you’re lucky, Nelyo will manage to smooth things over with Ingo.”

Carnistir gulped. If _Ingo_ was angry, he’d gone too far.

“I didn’t mean it _that_ offensively,” he said, aware that it would be untrue to claim he hadn’t meant to give offense at all.

“What you meant and what everyone else thought are two different things,” Tyelko said grimly. “You had best think on how you’re going to apologize to Nelyo. He’s in a difficult position with our uncle now.”

And with their cousins as well, Carnistir suspected, although it was kind of Tyelko to leave that part out.

He threw himself into his favorite chair and did as his brother suggested. He had time, for it was several hours before the rest of their brothers returned.

They all trooped into his cabin, with varying degrees of solemn expressions. Nelyo looked more irritated than Carnistir could ever remember seeing him. Kano’s face gave away nothing, but given that he was trained as a performer, that didn’t signify anything in particular. Ambarussa was as focused as he got these days. Curvo looked pensive, which wasn’t terribly reassuring.

“I will speak to all of you now, so none of you can claim not to have heard,” Maitimo said shortly. “ _No one_ is to leave this camp tonight. We keep north of the lake, and do not stir beyond our accustomed bounds. I don’t want to hear that you went beyond the watch posts, any of you.”

Not even Curvo was willing to chance a smart comeback to that decree – and it was most definitely a decree.

“It is no secret by now that Angarato and Aikanaro are departing, and their followers with them. We will meet in the morning to discuss our next steps, but I am not minded to have to put out any more diplomatic fires tonight. Have I made myself clear?”

He glared about the room, and Carnistir had the distinct impression that no one wanted to ask what the consequences would be if they disobeyed.

They had occasionally wondered, back in Tirion, what it would look like if Maitimo was pushed beyond the limits of his temper. Speculation on the subject had become a good deal less amusing once he was taken prisoner by Morgoth, and he doubted any of his brothers or cousins wanted to think on it now.

“The rest of you are dismissed,” Maitimo said, sounding more like their commander than their brother. “Carnistir, I wish to speak to _you_ about your conduct before you turn in.”

Tyelko shot him a look of sympathy, but made no move to remain with them, filing out with the rest. It wasn’t often he wished for Tyelko’s company, but Carnistir wouldn’t have minded him staying.

Maitimo waited until the door had closed behind Tyelkormo before he pinned Carnistir with a look that was intensely uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” Carnistir blurted out pre-emptively. “I didn’t mean to-”

“To make things difficult for me?”

Maitimo sighed, and snagged the nearest chair, sinking into it with a weariness that alarmed his younger brother. It was so easy to forget that Maitimo had yet to fully recover from his ordeal, that he still tired quickly. And he would not have allowed himself to show such weakness in front of their uncle or cousins.

“Beyond that, Moryo, do you have the faintest idea what precisely you’re apologizing for?” Maitimo asked tiredly.

“Picking a fight with Ango,” Carnistir muttered. “But mostly making things difficult for you.”

Maitimo gave him a measuring look.

“Angarato was made our spokesman by his older brother – with the full approval of our uncle. And, I might add, not that it particularly matters anymore, _my_ approval as well.”

Carnistir fought not to blush. It might not matter to his uncle or cousins, but it did to him, and probably to his brothers as well.

“My words were ill-chosen,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Very,” Maitimo replied sharply. “But it doesn’t stop there. It is likely, in his anger at your words, that Angarato will repeat _mine_.”

“What of it?” Carnistir shrugged. “They were no secret.”

“They were intended only for the ears of our cousins and uncle,” Maitimo snapped. “My words were not meant to go any further, and if they should come to Thingol’s attention, you may be sure he will take them ill indeed!”

“So what if he does? Who cares if _Thingol_ does not like what you say? Come to that, what do we care if our uncle does not like it? Atto did not even want him here in the first place. He came only because he would look craven if he did not!”

“Morifinwë Carnistir,” Maitimo growled, “would you stop acting as though we were still in Tirion, where these petty quarrels amongst ourselves made little difference to any but the Noldor?”

Carnistir started to argue, but the fierce look on his eldest brother’s face stopped him cold.

“Our father,” Maitimo continued angrily, “is _dead_. He is dead because of his inability to look at the larger picture, to see the necessity of allies, and to plan a strategy that would allow him to achieve his goals. His headlong charge may make for a stirring song, but tell me, little brother, what did it actually _accomplish_?”

Carnistir’s jaw dropped.

“We need Thingol’s goodwill,” Maitimo said quietly, “no less than we need our cousins and uncle. With them, we may still fail to defeat Morgoth and retrieve Father’s jewels, but having seen somewhat more of Angband than you have, I can assure you that without them, we stand no chance whatsoever of success.”

Seeing that Carnistir seemed uninclined to argue, he went on.

“As for our uncle, you may cast aspersions if you wish, but remember that he too swore an oath, if a somewhat more measured one. And unlike the rest of you, he has suffered for holding to his word. Or had you not bothered to look over his numbers and tally the losses on the Ice?”

Carnistir’s cheeks flamed, because until this instant, he had never thought on it. He knew in an abstract way that people had died, of course – with Turvo in mourning for Elenwë and Rillë still not walking normally again yet, it was impossible not to know that much.

“If it takes a command, Moryo, consider this an order: discover how many in his host fell on the Helcaraxë before you next come face to face with Uncle Nolofinwë,” Maitimo said tiredly. “It may change your mind about how seriously he takes all this. And think also on this – Ango was the obvious choice for envoy to Thingol, given that we could not spare Ingo for the errand. Arafinwë’s children are kin to the Sindarin king through their _mother_.”

Maitimo didn’t need to spell it out any further that Carnistir had thrown in his cousin’s face exactly that which made him so well suited for his task, not to mention antagonized Ingo unnecessarily. But his older brother wasn’t finished speaking yet.

“What’s more, Artanis is still in Doriath – which means if Thingol is minded to exact a price for our insolence, _she_ will bear the brunt of his anger, not _you_. And she will be in a difficult position even if Thingol’s wrath is not directed at her, because you may be sure he will question her about us.”

Carnistir swallowed nervously. He had no idea what Artanis would say if Thingol managed to hit on a direct question about Alqualondë. He didn’t even like to think what she might say if questioned about them.

“Why on earth would we leave Thingol a…” Carnistir trailed off, fumbling for a word that would never even have been needed in Aman.

“I believe _hostage_ is the word you are looking for,” Maitimo supplied.

“Fine, _hostage_ ,” Carnistir snapped. “Why would we not keep Artë close? Whose fool idea was that?”

“It was Ingo’s,” Maitimo said slowly. “And you would do well not to debate the point with him. She has been there almost from the moment the Arafinwions first made contact with the Sindar. Thingol’s maia queen keeps his lands safe. Orcs and balrogs cannot trouble Doriath. So I’m sure you can follow Ingo’s reasoning.”

Carnistir frowned.

“By that logic, Irissë should be there too,” he pointed out.

“Indeed. And with a bit more diplomacy, she might have been,” Maitimo replied. “But I doubt tonight’s words will fail to find their way to Thingol’s ears. Once they do, I suspect that will put a stop to any talk of allowing Noldorin guests beyond those who can claim kinship with him. Why should he make any gesture of goodwill when we so obviously hold him in contempt?”

“I will apologize,” Carnistir offered. “I will find Ango in the morning.”

“No, I think you had better not,” Maitimo said tiredly. “Start with Uncle and Ingo instead.”

“I will apologize to Uncle first,” Carnistir amended immediately, eager not to compound his stupidity in his oldest brother’s eyes. “He is the king and I should not have insulted his judgement.”

“Try to keep that in mind, would you, little brother?”

Maitimo no longer sounded annoyed or angry, just exasperated and exhausted. It put Carnistir uncomfortably in mind of his mother during those last years in Tirion.

“I will do my best. But why Ingo?”

“Because Ango is preparing to leave, if indeed he is not already gone, so you will miss your chance with him by morning. And I suspect it will be some time before any letter you write him is actually read rather than being tossed in the nearest fire. But Ingo _might_ listen.”

Carnistir sighed and bowed his head. It was not the first time he’d made a mess of things with his temper. Just the most spectacular.

“Take heart, Moryo,” Maitimo said kindly. “It could have been worse.”

Carnistir looked skeptically at his older brother.

“Believe me,” Maitimo said sadly, “Angarato did better than you realize. It could have been much worse.”


	2. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carnistir apologizes for his hasty words, and gets something else to think on.

If Nolofinwë’s behavior in the morning was frosty, Carnistir bore it with patience.

His uncle did at least grant him the mercy of a private audience, and without keeping him waiting. Though he supposed that the private meeting could also be ascribed by those who did not witness it as him being dressed down by the king for his stupidity – but he found he did not care so much about that as he might have the night before.

He had done as his brother ordered and compared the number of those who had set out from Araman in Nolofinwë’s host and those who had arrived in Mithrim. It had been sobering. The Fëanorion host had suffered some losses in the Battle Under the Stars, but on the whole their casualties had been light, with Fëanor himself the only major death. But between the Ice and the battle in the Lammoth, their uncle had lost at least one of every four who had followed him. Carnistir would have liked to console himself that some of those missing people might have turned back before getting very far on the Ice, but he wasn’t finding that argument very convincing.

He’d been even less able to meet his uncle’s eyes than he normally was on the occasions when he owed an apology for his behavior, because this time he was not merely embarrassed, but actually shamed by the hint of pity he could see in Nolofinwë’s expression.

His uncle had been kind enough not to remark on it if he noticed Carnistir blushing from more than usual the embarrassment of having acted the fool. He also kept the interview brief, which might have been out of lingering exasperation, but still meant less chance of Carnistir putting another foot in his mouth.

Nolofinwë repeated Maitimo’s admonishment to apologize to Ingo as soon as possible before dismissing him.

It was a relief to emerge into the early morning light.

He then sought out Ingo, lest he be seen to be disobeying both his brother and his uncle.

His cousin was still asleep, and while he knew well enough from camping trips in their younger years that even the apparent perfection of the Arafinwions didn’t go so far as to let them look immaculate in their sleep, Carnistir was selfishly amused to discover that Ingo’s bedhead was as spectacular as ever.

“Ingo.”

No response.

“Ingoldo!”

Were it not for his excellent reflexes, the surprisingly well-aimed pillow would likely have connected with his head.

“I am not awake,” Ingo announced grumpily, without actually lifting his face from the pillow still on his bed. “So it had better be later than it feels.”

“It is the sixth hour,” Carnistir offered. “The sun is already up.”

The second pillow did hit him.

“I was enjoying the blessings of Irmo,” Ingo groused. “Moryo, I don’t know what in the name of Varda’s stars makes you think you have anyone’s leave to disturb me at such a beastly hour-”

“I have our uncle’s permission,” Carnistir interjected tartly. “That means I have the king’s leave.”

“I don’t care. Unless the Enemy is attacking, it can wait. Go away.”

“I wanted to apologize,” Carnistir said patiently, aware that Ingo had never been a morning person.

“If you are actually in earnest, it will sound far more sincere if you come back again at a civilized hour. Do you know how late we were up last night?”

Carnistir hesitated. If it would help…

“Very well. I shall do so if I am able. I thought it best to speak with you at once, as it sounds as though my brother means to keep me too busy to be sure of coming later.”

Ingo let out an enormous sigh and finally rolled over so that Carnistir could see his face.

“Oh, all right!” he groaned. “I’m all the way awake now whether I want to be or not. You might as well get it over with. Although I don’t think Maitimo intended to depart quite so abruptly. He’s rather keen to ensure you and my brothers don’t run into each other out in the middle of nowhere without the rest of us to keep you from fighting.”

Carnistir managed to hold his tongue, but only with difficulty because it sounded rather as if Maitimo had explained to everyone but him what he had planned. Not to mention, it was aggravating to have everyone assume he’d be such a lout as to attack his younger cousins.

“Be that as it may,” he said stiffly.

“No one’s suggesting you’d start the fight,” Ingo said placatingly, rising and pulling a robe on over the leggings he had slept in.

“Oh? I thought your brothers were too well-behaved to pick fights,” Carnistir said, catching himself just short of snide.

“Speak of Ango again as you did last night and I think you’ll find that he’ll be happy to consider _you_ the one who picked the fight,” Ingo replied with a smirk. “And I should add that Aiko would take his part at once.”

“Two on one is hardly a fair fight.”

“Probably not something to bring up with them,” Ingo said, suddenly stern. “Considering how the last fight you and your brothers started went.”

Carnistir sighed.

“I apologize, Ingo. Unreservedly. I spoke rashly, and without thinking.”

To his surprise, Ingo did not relent at once.

“You do understand it was our mother’s people you slaughtered, do you not, Moryo?” he demanded.

Carnistir could only nod wretchedly, feeling it was unfair that he alone was having to answer for something his older brothers had been equally involved in – if not more so.

“Really?” Ingo asked skeptically. “Your manner of speaking suggests otherwise. Or perhaps you believe that _mothers_ are of no account. May I insult Aunt Nerdanel with impunity, should I feel the urge?”

Carnistir counted ten and did _not_ grind his teeth before replying.

“Of course not. Aunt Eärwen is well-loved by all of us-”

“Despite her Telerin blood?” Ingo asked softly. “That is how you think of my mother, isn’t it? It is certainly how your father thought of her. Still a foreigner, still unconnected to the Noldor save when it serves your purposes.”

“Of course not!” Carnistir snapped. “How can you possibly think such a thing?”

“Very easily,” Ingo replied solemnly. “Between your father’s words and the actions of his house, it is entirely thinkable. In fact, I’m sure it’s exactly what Ango was thinking last night. It’s as well you left when you did.”

Carnistir swallowed.

“I only meant-”

“No, don’t ruin a perfectly good apology with a justification,” Ingo sighed, sitting down at a cluttered table, and waving at Carnistir to seat himself.

“Should I call for breakfast?” Carnistir asked, hoping to curry some favor. He wasn’t used to the Arafinwions being this difficult. Normally it was Turvo or Aryo who had to be talked round…

“Yes, that’s only fair given you rousted me from my cozy bed at sunup,” Ingo agreed.

Carnistir forebore to mention that as it was only just summer, the sun had already been up for an hour. He strode to the entrance of Ingo’s tent, stuck his head out, and casually commandeered the nearest body who didn’t look important enough to object to bring Prince Finderato’s morning meal without delay.

He didn’t much care if they brought anything for him, but Ingo would be more cheerful once he’d eaten.

He returned to find Ingo had tidied the table, stacking the papers and scrolls that had previously littered the surface neatly enough to create space.

“To come back to our discussion,” Ingo said, “you do understand that my brothers and sister and I are also kin to Elwë Singollo through our mother?”

Carnistir, to his horror, felt a blush coming on. Drat his traitorous complexion – Tyelko would have brazened his way through such a question.

“Yes,” he mumbled. “I do. Now. Maitimo reminded me.”

“Elwë Singollo, or Elu Thingol as his name is now in the tongue of our sundered kin, is brother to Olwë of Alqualondë,” Ingo told him. “While he was a great friend to our mutual grandfather Finwë, it seemed wiser to approach him as a _kinsman_ rather than a mere _friend_.”

Carnistir was sure his face was as red as his father’s banners, but he gave up trying to fight it. Ingo had surely known him to make equally stupid mistakes in Aman. And if he hadn’t, better he learn now that Carnistir was not Maitimo or Makalaurë, the ones who generally got it right, or even Curvo, who might mis-read people but was genius enough in most other areas that his missteps could be overlooked.

“I would have gone myself,” Ingo continued, “but both your brother and our uncle felt that was unwise. They wanted me here, seeing to my people.”

 _And they didn’t want to give Thingol such a valuable hostage as the senior prince of the House of Arafinwë if things went badly_ , Carnistir thought – but very quietly. He wasn’t sure how Ingo would react to the idea, if it had not already occurred to him.

“So Ango and Aiko were sent, as a team,” Carnistir finished.

“Exactly,” Ingo nodded.

There was a brief interruption as a server arrived bearing a laden tray, and a warm greeting for both princes. Apparently details of what had gone on at the conference last night had not yet become common knowledge. Carnistir was certain he wouldn’t have been included in the young man’s smile were that the case.

“I apologize,” Carnistir said, once they were alone again. “It was foolish of me not to see that they would not have treated with Thingol without Uncle and Nelyo’s approval.”

“And mine,” Ingo added firmly, looking up from the toast he had been doctoring with marmalade. “I may be your little cousin, Moryo, but I’m also saddled with the responsibility of being head of my house here in Beleriand.”

Carnistir bit his lip nervously. He had no idea what to say to that. None of their mothers had followed his father – not even his own – but Arafinwë’s defection had shocked them all.

“I did not mean to make your position worse,” he offered.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Ingo said, sounding tired. “But you may have all the same. You know Artë is already in Doriath…”

“But why?” Carnistir demanded “Doesn’t that give Thingol leverage over you, should his mood change?”

Ingo raised an eyebrow.

“I will admit there’s precedent for using my sister to force my house to fall in line…”

“ _What?”_ Carnistir demanded furiously. “Who did such a thing? _”_

Ingo’s gaze turned unexpectedly fierce.

“Your _father_ did, Morifinwë!” he snapped. “Atto would have _remained_ in Alqualondë if he’d had any certainty his ‘treason’ wouldn’t be paid for by his daughter! But you had her on your stolen ship – _my grandfather’s ship!_ ‘Hostage’ may be a term we learned here in Beleriand but I assure you we already understood its meaning before we had the word to put with it.”

Carnistir blinked stupidly, because he’d had _no idea_ his cousins thought such a thing.

“We only wanted to keep her safe,” he said quietly. “She was right in the middle of everything, Ingo.”

“You might have left her to her mother’s kin,” Ingo said, steel in his voice. “I assure you our Lindar uncles would not have let her come to harm. I hear your brother had quite the opposite idea.”

Carnistir closed his eyes and very determinedly did not think of what Curvo had told him after the fact about how close Tyelko had come to doing their youngest cousin serious harm. He also did not say that he wasn’t confident that Olwë’s sons had survived the day, much less that they would have been able to protect their niece. If Ingo didn’t know how bad it had truly been on the quays, let him stay blissfully ignorant. If Carnistir can do nothing else for his little cousin, at least he can do that much.

“It wasn’t meant like that,” he repeated. “You’re talking about Artë. She’s the _baby_ , for the love of Nienna!”

Ingo still looked skeptical.

“If that is how you felt, why did Uncle continue to follow Atar after that? Maitimo gave her over to him as soon as we put in to regroup. It was only a bit more than a day’s march. He could have turned back immediately.”

“He was trying to talk us out of continuing,” Ingo admitted heavily. “And once he saw that was futile, to convince Artanis to lay down any thought of vengeance. She has been quite clear every step of the way since that she intends to kill Turkafinwë. I can’t say he succeeded on either count.”

 _Turkafinwë_. Not _Tyelko_ or even _Tyelkormo_. 

Just how angry were their cousins, Carnistir suddenly wondered. And did Maitimo know?

He found himself rapidly reconsidering his assumptions about sending Artanis to Doriath. Maybe it hadn’t been entirely about diplomacy and her own safety. Maybe it had been for his older brother’s sake as well. Or, more pragmatic still, for the sake of keeping the peace. Making sure the two of them did not come face to face would not have been easy if both were here in Mithrim.

Or worse, perhaps he and his brothers still weren’t trusted not to use her against _her_ brothers.

It seemed useless to say ‘I didn’t know’, even though it was true.

“I’m sorry,” Carnistir repeated quietly.

He didn’t just mean about last night anymore.


	3. Consequences

For the second time in less than a day, Carnistir found the ride from one side of the lake to the other passed in a blur. (He would have preferred to walk – it would have let him burn off some frustration and clear his mind. But that would have drawn attention and annoyed his horse, and neither seemed like a good idea.) This time, though, it was not the remnants of anger and the question of what he’d done to upset his brothers consuming his thoughts, but a much more complicated blend of emotions.

Oh, there was still some anger. The idea that he and his brothers would ever hurt Artanis was infuriating. Ok, maybe it was a little bit warranted in the special case of Tyelko and Alqualondë. But the rest of them had made sure she _didn’t_ get hurt. And as far as he knew, Umbarto had died unforgiven for his role in keeping her out of the fight. That was something that could never be made right.

But mostly there was bewilderment, and hurt, and under it all, a sick fear that if so much lay between them that Ingo, who was unquestionably the best tempered of them all, could believe such things of him and his brothers, the rest of his cousins and perhaps even his uncle must be thinking far worse.

Maitimo did not know.

Carnistir was sure of that once he had time on his own to think things over. Had he known, his eldest brother would have better prepared him for both interviews.

Their father might have scoffed, but Nelyafinwë Maitimo was a natural diplomat, and could wield words as deftly as he had once wielded a sword. He prepared the ground for important conversations as others might prepare for battle. (Though that did not mean that others could not wreck his carefully laid groundwork – a thought Carnistir was going to keep at the front of his mind at any future family gatherings. He had a feeling it would be some time before he got to attend another one.)

The only bright side that Carnistir could see was that his honest shock at the notion of using Artë against her brothers and father seemed to go further than any words could have to reassure Ingo.

It probably had helped that it was him, as well. He was generally unable to hold a deception – his face would give him away sooner or later. Had it been his older brothers, Ingo might have thought they were dissembling, or covering their tracks. Curvo could also lie quite convincingly when the occasion called for it, as Ingo would know only too well. As for Ambarussa… well, it was anyone’s guess how much of anything after leaving Tirion his sweet addled baby brother remembered.

 When he reached their side of the lake, Carnistir proceeded directly to his eldest brother’s quarters.

The expression of surprise on Maitimo’s face wasn’t precisely flattering.

“Moryo? You’re back sooner than I’d expected.”

“It’s bad news, of course,” Carnistir shrugged, “but it’s not _my_ doing.”

Maitimo sighed heavily, but gestured for him to sit.

Carnistir took the chair gratefully – he’d had enough of standing for uncomfortable interviews for one day, and it was still nowhere near noon.

His summary of the conversation with Uncle Nolo was terse and to the point – there wasn’t all that much to tell, really. But he recounted what had happened with Ingo word for word, doing his best to give his brother the emotions and expressions that had gone with it. Maitimo was very good at what he did, but he needed to know what he was up against before he could form any plan to set things right.

By the time he finished, his eldest brother was swearing. Far more quietly than Tyelko would have, and with less creative formulations than Kano might have deployed, but swearing as Carnistir had rarely heard him do.

“Thank you for bringing this to me, Moryo,” Maitimo said at long last. “I had no idea things were so serious.”

“Then it is as bad as I thought?” Carnistir asked in disappointment.

He’d been hoping against hope to be told that he was overreacting. He would much rather have been accused of being overwrought than been correct about the situation.

“Worse, I fear,” Maitimo frowned. “You are sadly right that if _Ingo_ said such things, the others are thinking worse. I’m not sure about Aiko, but Ango certainly is, and Turvo as well. I knew that Artë was angry, but not _that_ angry. Ingo packed her off to Elwë quickly enough to keep that from me.”

Maitimo fell silent, considering the new information, and likely sifting through possibilities. 

“What about Uncle Nolo?” Carnistir asked nervously.

He was the king now, Maitimo couldn’t very well take that back. And if the king did not wish to aid their fight for vengeance…

“If you mean what does he think of us, who knows?” Maitimo shrugged. “He has had more years of practice at politics and court life than I have, and can keep his counsel in far more tense situations than your outburst last night or apology this morning. I don’t expect you would see anything he didn’t intend you to – even I can’t always read him.”

This was another new thought for Carnistir – who realized belatedly that this might be another instance of him putting too much faith in his father’s opinions. If Maitimo thought Uncle’s skills beyond his…

“But Uncle Nolo is still only _one_ person,” Matimo pointed out.  “And no matter what he may think privately, he wants to end Morgoth as much as we do. Finwë was his father, too. He’ll put whatever opinions he may have about us to one side until that goal is achieved. He’s far too able a leader not to. It is our cousins who worry me. There are eight of them, and we need every last one as allies – and not grudging ones only. You are not the only one still young enough to act or speak without thinking.”

Maitimo stood, and began to pace, as if movement might help him better consider the problem. It was a new habit, one his brothers had only seen since his rescue.

When he finally sat down again, he gave his younger brother an evaluating glance.

“I’ve already been warned I won’t like whatever you had in mind in the first place,” Carnistir pre-empted him, “so I doubt the revised plan will be any more enjoyable.”

“I’m afraid not,” Maitimo agreed. “Though – can I trust you not to repeat things, little brother?”

 “I think so,” Carnistir said cautiously. “I’ve just had a rather sharp lesson in keeping my mouth shut and thinking before speaking.”

“It will have to be better than just trying, Carnistir,” Maitimo warned. “Part of what has to happen next is that I have to be seen to be punishing you.”

Carnistir nodded. He’d expected no less after what Ingo had told him.

“I’ll work on being more patient,” he promised. “And I’ll apologize to Ango and Aiko however you think I should.”

“Let’s leave that for the time being. Ango’s just as stubborn as Tyelko when he’s riled, and it will be some time before he’ll let it go. I’d say ten years at the least. I was thinking more in terms of next steps for us _now_. And I am going to need you to react like a grownup, not like a petulant boy. You’re older than any of our cousins except Finno – you need to act accordingly.”

“I promise,” Carnistir assured him.

“Kano, Tyelko, and I will be here, in the north,” Maitimo began, unrolling a map on the desk between them. “We will form a defensive line against the Enemy, blocking his access to the elven realms behind us. I had originally thought to put you here, in East Beleriand, to make you our quartermaster I see that as a more natural role for you than the front lines.”

Carnistir was surprised. He’d expected to be told he would be dangled out in front to be the first one for Morgoth to hit. But as exemplary a punishment as that would have been, it didn’t sound as though it was what his brother had in mind.

“Unfortunately, under the current circumstances,” Maitimo went on, “that would be read as rewarding you, perhaps even endorsing your words. That’s the exact opposite of what I need everyone to see. So I’m afraid the plan has to be altered. You’ll be going as far east as I can send you – here.”

He indicated a region on the map. Carnistir still didn’t see where it looked so bad.

“East of the Gelion,” he said neutrally. “What do we know about it?”

“Very little, I’m afraid,” Maitimo replied. “Though with the mountains and the rivers, you should be somewhat more protected than Kano, Tyelko, and I – you’ll have natural boundaries on all sides. And I’ve every hope you’ll still be able to put your talents to work supplying the rest of us – you’ll have as much land as the three of us combined. We can’t be certain from here, but at least on paper yours looks more likely to be productive. Much of Tyelko’s territory and mine will be given over to defense, and Kano is going to be guarding the gates between these two ranges.”

“What about Curvo?” Carnistir asked curiously.

“I’m teaming him with Tyelko in the hopes they’ll balance each other. If I put Tyelko on his own, he won’t give enough thought to defense and may well get carried away if the brunt of an attack falls on him. He’s prone to either overcommit or not retreat. If I send Curvo anywhere on his own, he’ll have the best armed force bar none, but they’ll be so fortified and dug in that they’ll never make an offensive move, even if they _should_.”

Carnistir could see the logic in that. Curvo and Tyelko got on well, and their strengths complemented each other. Put together, they’d make a more effective commander as a team than either one would be individually. He wasn’t used to thinking in these terms, but he’s going to have to manage people too, and without his brothers right at hand to smooth things out for him.

“And Ambarussa?”

Maitimo pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll place him where I originally meant to put you and hope that perhaps he can focus himself well enough to train horses. I’ll ask him to take on some of the quartermaster role I had in mind for you, but in all honesty I can’t say I expect much will come of it. Look in on him from time to time. I’ll try to as well, but there’s no telling how things will actually go.”

That would also put their youngest – and least capable, in several senses of the word – brother in the most protected spot of any of them.

Carnistir considered the map again, looking not just at where he and his brothers were going, but where their cousins and uncles were to have their territories. It formed more or less a continuous Noldorin realm across the north and curving around and down in the east…

“Thingol won’t like being nearly surrounded by Noldor,” Carnistir mused. “With us to his northeast, the Arafinwions to his north, and Uncle and his sons to the northwest, that’s exactly what we’re doing.”

Maitimo snorted.

“He has no grounds for complaint. He’s getting a girdle of Noldor to hide behind in addition to the girdle of Melian – _don’t_ go repeating that, please.”

Carnistir obediently stifled his snicker.  

Truth be told… Talath Rhúnen, was it? The name was unfamiliar, but it wouldn’t be that bad. Yes, so it was on the eastern edge of the known world, but it was about as far from Ango and Aiko as Maitimo could get him, and that was probably no bad thing, at least not for the time being. And he’s just not as social as most of his brothers and cousins, so being in an out of the way spot doesn’t bother him in and of itself, even if it looks like it’s the adult equivalent of being sent to his room.

That lake marked on the map looked promising.

“When am I to make my way there?” Carnistir asked.

“As soon as you can make ready – which, I should imagine, won’t be for several days at least. You’ll want time to pack everything properly and order your people for the march.”

Carnistir couldn’t tell from his brother’s tone if that was a question, a suggestion, or an order, so he simply nodded.

“If I am allowed a week or two, I would feel better about it,” he said. “I wish to make sure I take everything I might need the first time, and packed in an orderly fashion so I can find what I want when we get there.”

Maitimo gave him a small smile.

“Good. One less worry – if you don’t set out right away, there’s little chance of you running into Ango on the road. Not that you should be going the same direction in any case – he’s bound for Dorthonion, but you’ll need to head further south. The Sindar say there’s a road that runs eastward we’ll need to use. Crossing Nan Dungortheb any other way is said to be hopeless.”

“Do I tell Uncle I’m leaving, or will you be doing that?”

Maitimo frowned.

“I think I had better do the honors. I can apparently trust you to mind your tongue, but your _face_ still gives away that you’re not overly chastened at being sent to what should be a punishment assignment.”

“Sorry,” Carnistir offered, trying to arrange his expression to be sufficiently contrite.

His brother sighed.

“We’ll work on your diplomacy.”


End file.
